My history of crying – Phase III

Interesting how this phase hit after the discipline. Because I’m sure I got hurt on my own before my parents started disciplining me and even before I developed such a stubborn personality. But still, in my remembrance, this phase comes third.

This is the phase where I got hurt.

I wasn’t a daredevil. That was my brother, William. But I liked to ride bikes, I liked to jump ramps, I liked to climb trees, I liked to run, I liked to play, and I liked to have fun. I was bound to get hurt.

I recall those moments many of us can all remember, those moments in mid-air when you’re like, Ah, man, this is going to hurt – how did I get into this? I recall those moments lying on the ground, waiting for the shock to wear off and the pain to set in.

And then I’d cry.

Momma had a boo-boo bunny, I guess from when she was young or something. I really have no idea how we got that thing. But it was yellow, had a bunny face on it, and held ice cubes for when I hit my head or whatever happened to be sticking out.

I’d cry because of the pain. I’d cry because of the ice. And I’d cry because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you get hurt so that others, like your mom, will break out the boo-boo bunny for you.